


Midsummer's Eve

by twistedrunes



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrunes/pseuds/twistedrunes
Summary: Prompt: Could you make something with the reader struggling with homesickness (for example she's from another country) and Alfie comforting her.





	Midsummer's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> I deliberately set this piece in the Summer because it never seems to occur in the show!

“Have you been crying?” Mary your co-worker and friend asks as you arrive for your shift at the bakery.

You shake your head. “It’s silly.” You reply, patting your eyes.

“Tell me.” She says sitting on a pile of flour sacks while she waits for you to fix your cap into your hair.

“Just a bit homesick. Tomorrow is Midsummer’s Eve. It’s a big holiday in Sweden and I guess I just feel like I’m missing out.” You say struggling with the bobby pin. 

It wasn’t your first Midsummer’s Eve without your family, but you felt it got harder and harder each year. Yes, there was some celebration here. There was a Maypole dance in the park at the end of your street, but you had to be invited to dance. It was nothing like the exuberance and community feel of Midsummer in Sweden.

Mary takes the pin from your fingers and fixes your cap for you, before giving you a quick hug. She goes to speak but is cut off, your boss’s voice booming through the store.

“Morning Ladies, ready to make me lots of dough today eh?” Mr Solomons chuckles at his own joke.

“Yes, Mr Solomons.” You and Mary reply together. Both nodding quickly in his direction before scurrying off to get the bakery open.

\------------------------------------

“Agnes,” Mary whispers harshly as you pulled your apron over your head “Mr Solomons wants to see you in his office.” Her eyes wide silently questioning what you could have done to be summoned.

You check your watch again nervously, you had definitely returned from your lunch break within the allotted time. You wrack your brain as to what you could have done wrong. You waved your hands in front of your face to cool it as you climbed the staircase to Mr Solomons office. You really liked this job. It was easy enough to do once you got the hang of it and the bread you got to take home each night meant that you had a little pay leftover each week to send home to your mother.

“Come.” Mr Solomons calls in answer to your knock. You open the door hesitantly, sticking your head around it nervously. “Come in, come in.” Mr Solomons commands.

You enter the room, closing the door behind you but move no further. “You wanted to see me, Mr Solomons.” You say nervously.

“Do you have a nice frock?” Mr Solomons asks regarding you over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

“Sorry?” You ask shocked.

Mr Solomons scratches his fingers through his beard “A dress, like ya wearing now.” He waggles his finger up and down pointing at your attire, “But nice, for going out.” He clarifies.

“Yes, Mr Solomons.” You agree cautiously.

“Good. So tomorrow I got a party, business thing,” he explains. “Gonna be some Swedes there. I want you to come along.” He says.

“Pardon?” You say, still confused.

Mr Solomons scratches around his mouth as if considering something “Are ya not understanding me?” He asks.

“I understand the words, but I’m confused why you’re asking me.” You reply nervously.

“Ah, right then.” Mr Solomons sits back in his chair, “I’m going to a business party tomorrow. There will be people there from your home country. Thought it might be good to have someone with me who understands what’s going on.” He explains, then smiling slightly, suspecting the cause of your hesitation, he says “It’s not a date, just business.”

You can’t stop the smile of relief spreading across your face. “Business.” You repeat.

“So I’ll pick you up from your place at 6 pm.” Mr Solomons instructs. You nod. “Right back to work then.” He says waving you off and looking back down at his paperwork.

\--------------------------------------

Mary nearly dies from ongoing frustration as the afternoon progresses, just busy enough that you don’t have a chance to tell her what happened in Mr Solomons office. She practically drags you out the door at the end of the day, barely on the street before she demands “So?”

“He wants me to go with him to a business party tomorrow. Apparently, there will be some people there from Sweden.” You shrug, enjoying the fresh breeze in the street after being in the stifling heat of the bakery all afternoon.

Mary’s eyes light up. “No.” You say knowing exactly the direction her mind is going “He made it very clear it was not a date.”

Mary slumps a little, deflated. But is almost immediately reinvigorated by the next thought that pops into her head “So, what are you going to wear?”

It’s still light when you make your way home from Mary’s. Carrying the pretty summer dress she had loaned you. You smile to yourself, feeling happier than you did this morning, at least you wouldn’t be alone tomorrow night.

\------------------------------------

Mr Solomons talks about everything and nothing on the drive to the large house where the party was being held. You drive with the windows down, enjoying the bright, breezy summer evening. As you go down the tree-lined drive you notice a Maypole in the yard. Your heart skips. Leaving the curtain of the trees a vision is revealed to you, large tables are set up on the lawn all decorated with branches and flowers. To the side there was a large table groaning with food, even at this distance you recognise strawberry cake and you’re sure you can smell new potato and herring salad. Mr Solomons pulls up in front of the house and a valet opens the door for you.

You practically float out of the car and up the stairs to the hosts. You notice Mr Solomons smile as you look around you awestruck. You blush and try to contain yourself as you are introduced to your hosts. You exchange some small talk about where you were from, and where they were from before the next group arrives and Mr Solomons takes you down to join the party on the lawn.

Mr Solomons pulls out a chair at one of the tables for you. Once seated you look around wide-eyed. Almost overwhelmed by the smells, sounds and sights of your childhood, memories taken corporal form in front of you. Your host steps up onto the small stage in front of the tables, waiters distribute ice cold glasses of Swedish Vodka. You host begins a refrain of a favourite drinking song. Immediately the others all begin to sing. You join in, the words returning to you easily despite their long absence from your tongue. Finished you throw back the shot and the host declares the festivities open.

A band takes their place on the stage and begins to play. You stay seated watching people step up to dance on the grassed dance floor between the stage and the tables. You don’t want to leave Mr Solomons, remembering you are there for work and not fun. A man approaches you, introducing himself as Erik before requesting a dance. You shake your head and decline, the man nods graciously and turns to leave.

Mr Solomons places his hand on the man’s arm, but looks at you “Did he ask ya to dance?” he asks

“Yes,” you nod. 

“So why’d ya say no?” 

“Well I’m working Mr Solomons, I’m here with you.” 

“You’re not working right now, yeah. So off you trot.” He waves his hand towards the other dancers.

“But,” 

“I’ll let you know if I need you.” Mr Solomons replies taking your hand and putting it on top of the arm of the poor man stuck between you. “Go on.” Mr Solomons insists.

At first, you find yourself looking over to Mr Solomons every few seconds, but as you relax and become more interested in your discussion with Erik, you look across less and less. You realise that you and Erik are from neighbouring towns and reminisce. After nearly an hour you tell Erik you need a break and a drink. At the bar, Erik sees a friend and you politely excuse yourself, getting a beer to take back to Mr Solomons. You press the cool bottle of beer to your neck trying to cool down a bit. It was a beautiful warm evening and the exertion of dancing had made you sweaty.

Flopping down in your chair you put the spare bottle of beer in front of Mr Solomons. “Ta, but I don’t drink the stuff.” He says politely putting the bottle in front of your place setting.

“Sorry.” 

“No need.” Mr Solomons says before moving on “Looks like you were having fun there.” He observes.

“Yes, I was. Bit hot though now.” You say fanning your face with your hand.

“Well, that’d be all that jumping about.” Mr Solomons says lightly.

The host takes the stage again and invites everyone to eat. People take up their plates and stroll over to the food.

Mr Solomons hands you your plate and picks up his own. “Right love. Now ya going to explain to me what all these foods are and what’s in ‘em right? So I’m not in trouble with my God just fer eatin’.”

It takes a while, you hadn’t realised Jewish laws around eating were quite so complicated, but you manage to fill both your plate and Mr Solomons and return to the table. You take your first bite of the pickled herring and new potato salad and groan, closing your eyes and hanging your head back as your feet stomp excitedly on the grass.

“Good is it?” Mr Solomons asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“Nearly as good as my mothers.” You reply happily.

Mr Solomons nods “It’s never as good as ya own mums, is it?” He says fondly.

“No.” You agree.

Mr Solomons declines desert but you can’t help yourself, unable to resist a slice of strawberry cake. Taking your first mouthful you give the table a repeat performance of your reaction to the fish and potatoes. “So good.” You mumble, mouth half full.

Once most people have finished eating, the waiters again distribute cold vodka shots and there is more singing. You notice it is louder and more enthusiastic than before now everyone has had their fill of food, alcohol and nostalgia. You sing along happily. Stopping occasionally to explain to Mr Solomons what the songs were about. At one point Mr Solomons stands, you go to stand too but he tells you to stay where you are and leaves alone.

\------------------------------------

It’s still light when you leave, probably nearing midnight.

“Mr Solomons?” you ask after a short silence between you. “Why did you bring me tonight? You didn’t need me to interpret or anything. There was only the food, and I’m sure the servers would have been able to help you.”

“You noticed that did ya?” Mr Solomons replies.

“Yes.”

“Did ya have a good time? Feeling a bit cheerier than you were yesterday?” He asks looking at you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road.

“Yes.” You admit, embarrassed he had noticed that you were upset.

“Thought so. It can be tough when you’re the only one.”

You nod silently.

“During the war, something your country very wisely stayed out of. Very smart people you Swedes. Very smart. I was a Captain, right? In the Army. See, you get all sorts from all over the country, every kind of English man you could think of. I had over a hundred and twenty men in my unit, but I was the only Jew. So I just sort of stopped. I mean I followed the rules, but I basically ignored the holidays, just, got on with it. Celebrated fucking Christmas - right? For four years.”

“Oh,” you say quietly not quite knowing what to say.

“See most of the time, ya fine aren’t ya. Busy with life, but the holidays they’re tough.” Mr Solomons says.

You smile. “Thank you, Mr Solomons. I really appreciate it.”

“So they’ll be no more turning up at work in tears yeah? Bad for business that.” He says trying to sound gruff but failing badly.

“No, Mr Solomons.” You say, turning your face to the window. The smell of wildflowers reaching you, floating on the warm breeze. You watch the scenery pass you by in the golden twilight and decide the Midsummer’s Eve in England may not be so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to the Swedish tourism board for the hilarious and informative video which helped me with this fic https://sweden.se/culture-traditions/midsummer/


End file.
